HOW TO STOP RUNAWAY INFLATION AND THE MOST EXSPENSIVE BANANA 'BUTTY' IN THE WORLD.

The other day, on the radio there was a story about some African country, possibly that nice Mr Mugabe's part of the world. They decided that 'runaway inflation' would have to be arrested along with a good chunk of the population. Those eagle-eyed financial wizards figured that it was getting out of hand when a loaf of bread hit, get this...EIGHT THOUSAND BILLION DOLLARS!!!!!!!!....Not bad, eh? That's an 8 with a lot of noughts after it.(a damn sight more noughts to the right of the number ,than the average workers earn, i'd imagine.). This means that the land where bananas come from, has the most exspensive banana butties in the world! It is these noughts ,which are not only the problem, but could be the cure. The finely honed economical minds in charge have decided to cut off the noughts from these fantastic numbers to make them into a little more respectable numbers. The noughts wont be stuck onto the wage figures,(unless its to the left of the number). That is unless its the politicians wages.(That'll be to the right of the very big number).

Our politicians aren't as sneaky and of as lateral turn of mind as our African friends, they just carry on boosting the cost of everything up, dont pay us any more to pay for everything, but make sure they can afford everything by boosting their money up more than enough to keep well ahead of the rest of us peasants struggling to earn our daily bread n' banana butty.

WHY AMERICAN TOILETS'LL SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF YOU.

After a short break over the 'pond' in the 'Good ol' US of A, i come back bearing , not gifts , but warnings. When your over there and you need to go for a well earned crap/No2/Dump, or plain good ol Shit, be prepared for the shock of your life. You see, the problem is, that here in G.B and Ireland we have a certain design of toilet, which has a little 'hole 'at the bottom with a little water in, leading to the drains, etc. So, when we Brits deposit our deposits in the deep bowl, it all goes out of sight around the U-Bend. So, no matter how hard you've been pumping , squeezing, forcing, pushing, grunting and, on occassions screaming, the 'bowl/ pan' never seems to have that much in. A yank of the handle, a flush of water, a little gurgling and' good as new'.

The American bowl is a lot shallower and holds a lot more water in the bowl above the exit point, i don't know if the yanks have U-Bends. But the immediate effect of this difference in design is that the displaced contents of your intestines,et al, do not disappear 'around the bend'. This means that you get to see how much 'shit' you are actually full of and able to pump out. And it is truly terrifying. Peter Cook once asked, "Did you know you've got 14 miles of tubing inside your body".Well, looking at the contents of an American Bog, you can believe it. Even what feels like the smallest' squit', is actually a massive amount. There are some things you don't want to know, much as you lot probably don't wish to know about all of this. But i'm just providing a public service, promoting our public conveniences over the Yankee bog. God bless the British toilet, i say.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! (MULTIPLE OF 21(plus) AGAIN.)

Today is St Swithins day, the patron saint of lost causes....Which some people might say ,'was quite apt', as, today, St Swithins day is my birthday!Upon this very day a vast number of years ago. (1960, there, work that out yerself, yer thick bastards.) Your hero was born in the fair city of Liverpool. It was all black n' white, then. And the Beatles hadn't even been invented; Doctor Who wasn't even thought of; And condoms, were made of lorry tyre rubber and nobody bothered to use 'em as they were next to useless. So today ,as i can see the 'big 5-OOOOOHHH,( or is it AAAAAAARRRGGGHH?) looming fairly close, and looming ever closer on the temporal horizon. I'll have a quite lazy day, much like yesterday, and probably tomorrow. You can't have too much excitment when you get to my age. Not that there's much chance of that in the wild un-tamed badlands of Warrington. But my daughter(the little 'un), she's bustin' a gut with excitment. She shares, or has taken over my birthday ,for lost causes, as we share the same birthday. She's a little younger than me, mind.

The Lovely Lynne's got a highly classiffied birthday in 11 days time. Even i don't know for sure her exact age, as when we first met she was 35 for about 5 years, which confused the issue. There's nothing more confusing and complex than a womans age, anyhow...There, that'll put me right in the dog house, even if it is my birthday.

HAPPINESS IS A WARM FART

Apparently the big rip in the ozone layer threatening all life on the planet isn't 'cos of the carbon footprint our(incredibley over-taxed) 4x4 people carriers have been pumping out. But it's all down to the moo-cows in the feild chewing happily away on their cud. And even more happily farting away. It is the methane they're pumping away that is going to destroy the world. It's not going to be the Russians or the iranians going to blow us up,( lets not forget the yanks, they'd be upset to be left out whenever Doomsday comes about). The cows in the feild are going to destroy us. We cook them, as burgers by irradiating them in microwave ovens. So, they get their own back by irradiating us by turning the planet into a giant microwave oven by destroying the ozone layer, so eventually,on a slightly longer timer setting. We'll all be cooked like our friends the moo-cows.

But is it fair to blame it all on the the cattle? There is a lot more human beings on the planet then cattle. Humans are basically the same when it comes to personal habits ,esspecially when they are alone. How often have you lay on the couch and 'Let one rip', and 'Had a good smell',thinking "That was a good'un." Or even in bed. Stuck your head under the blanket for a 'sniff',cos your 'trumps' smell lovely, unlike everybody elses, cos they just stink' something awful'. Go on, admit it ,you've all done it, ya filthy creatures. Except for me, the Lovely Lynne does tho', she's shocking!...But the amount of methane that(you) all pump up, must be equal, if not in excess of the moo-cow methane. So, in a way we're committing a very long drawn out very smelly(except for mine) mass murder/genocide/suicide/destruction of the planet, with our methane bum print.

As the atmosphere fills up with the human races and cattles stale farts, the world becomes a dangerous place for a different reason. Remember the warnings at petrol stations against 'Naked flames and using mobile phones'? The flame and phone could cause the petrol fumes to ignite and blow the place to hell. The world is turning into a petrol station forecourt due to the rising levels of 'Fart Gas' in the atmosphere.

I still remember when i was a school boy and was told the incredulous news that ,"YOU COULD LIGHT A FART!" There are certain events that alter your world, forever. We laughed and scoffed disbelievingly, until after a few days the bearer of this amazing scientific discovery on the bus from school, dropped his pants. Lit a match, and after a little grunting and straining, 'let one rip'. And ,amazingly a little blue flame blew out. He yelled, we laughed, the girls squealed, and the world would never be the same again. It turned out the reason our intrepid 'test farter' yelled, was bacause he'd had what could be termed a blowback. This unfortunate event singed his 'ringpeice'. For the following week he couldn't sit down straight. He could sit on his left buttock, or his right, but not on both. A brave lad, a scientific pioneer, if ever there was one. He suffered to bring knowledge, enlightenment and a nasty smell to mankind.

WHY I HATE GIRLS SITTING ON BOYFRIENDS SHOULDERS AT CONCERTS. AND WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAVE TO BE WATCHED THROUGH A MOBILE PHONE?

Just recently theres been a burst of concerts. There was the Mandella bash at Wembley and , of course there was the annual mudbath at Glasto'. But the little bits i watched was noticable, for me, anyhow by the number of arm waving girls sitting on their 'knob'ead' boyfriends shoulders. I absolutly hate them. I would like to attend the shows with a high powered rifle and blow them off their beloved 'knob'eads' shoulders. Why you may well ask do i harbour this seemingly unreasonable hatred of these bright young things in the midst of having a good time. It is a perfectly reasonable question, one which i shall endeaver to address, or even answer.

It was once upon a decade ago, that a certain Sir Paul Macca, McCartney was playing at the Kings Dock in the fair city of Liverpool. A lovely bright warm sunny evening. Macca had introduced a pile of the Beatle songs into his repetoir, after years of not being allowed to play many of them,for some Micheal Jacko'Jackson thing, or other. And, of course there was all the Wings stuff, which i've always liked. All in all it was shaping into a cracker of a show. When, Acouple of girls, about 50 yards in front were hoisted onto their beloved 'Knob'eads'shoulders. The result was that for about 50-100 yards behind them was a line of people whose exspensive view of Sir Macca was replaced by these stupid bitches waving their arms about. Eventually the waves of hatred and more then a few passed comments had the desired effect and the beloved 'knob'eads' shoulders were rapidly cleared. So, whenever i see those stupid bitches at the concerts, i see the line of people in the long 'shadow' behind them and can imagine the waves of hate hammering into her thickskinned backside.

Nowadays , aside from those aforementioned silly cows and beloved 'Knob'ead'. Nowadays, we have everybody who attends these massive spectacles, concerts, parades, space shuttle launches, etc, etc, etc. Instead of watching and enjoying the experiance, it has to be recorded and watched through a half inch square screen on a raised mobile phone. So instead of short arses like my small but perfectly formed self just having to contend with straining to see around peoples heads. The problem has been compounded by ,in addittion to their stupid fat heads, they're holding their arms with mobile phones straight up over n' above. So they have the event recorded for posterity on a tiny screen you need to squint to see and strain to hear. Why not enjoy the splendour of the moment and remember. On the mobile, it will never seem that spectacular, but your memory and imagination will, over the years add to its size and grandeur creating an experiance that could never be bettered,( even when you were actually there,) except when you are telling people about it in years to come. And i think people'd rather sit n' listen to your experiances over a drink then sit and watch your mobile phone movies.

GERMAN U-BOATS; A CUP OF COFFEE; QUANTUM PHYSICS, AND A TRIP TO DEBENHAMS.

Once upon a time in the good ol' days of greasy spoon caff's, you'd walk in to the lino-covered,(in parts) floor, sit at a plastic covered table with the squeezy tubes of ketchup,etc, and order a coffee. The highly trained catering assistant would then activate the boiling water machine, commonly known as 'the kettle'. As the wonders of science boiled the cold tap water up, the multitasking catering assistant would wipe his nose on a multi coloured(stained) apron, then wipe his hands on his singlet, all this while making your bacon sausage n' egg butty. Then your cracked,sort of clean mug of tea or coffee would arrive with 5 heaped tee-spoons of sugar. And it was wonderful! But that was then, and this is now, but between then n' now, was last Saturday.

Me, the Lovely Lynne n' the 'Little 'un' went shopping in Warrington .The Lovely Lynne had an instinctive uncontrollable urge to go to Debenhams. I said you go i'll get a coffee in a 'Starf***'s just opposite the big 'D'. The very pleasant young lady asked me what kind of coffee i wanted.." oh just a plain coffee,thanks." Then i was hit with a whole menu of coffee's. It was a coffee version of Monty Python's 'cheese sketch. Eventually when we'd sorted out what i wanted, she handed a note to some other girls by this massive heap of equipment. It looked like they'd gotten it from a German navy' u-boat' surplus store. There was pipes , valves n' dials, levers, handles and a variety of high pressure equipment. The sound effects of gurgling, hissing, rattling ,clanging and loud bubbling and popping. I wasn't sure if i was getting a coffee made or were we on a 'crash dive', in mid- Atlantic before torpedo'ing a convoy. I'd watched that wonderful film, 'Das Boot' recently, so i couldn't get the images out of my mind. As i stood there for about 20 minutes as they fired tubes 3 and 4 ,then adjusted the bow planes,blew ballast and we re- surfaced, i thought i felt the floor incline ,then finally i got my coffee. It looked n' tasted like U-boat diesel oil.

I went to a table to sit with my diesel oil,and watch the world go by whilst waiting for my 'beloved'. Time passed, and carried on passing, slower n' slower. And gravity pressed my face harder n' harder into the palms of my hands forcing my cheeks up above my ears. Time and gravity were exacting their toll on me, they are the cosmic 'big boys', if you like and Einsteins theories of Relativity are about them. But at the other end of the scale, the sub atomic world, even the basics of energy itself is dealt with by some weird shit indeed, which goes by the name of Quantum physics. Which, basically nobody understands. They know how to use it, as say in a microwave oven, but no body understands why the Quantum cookbook works. One strange facet is that the actual observing of certain 'events' in the Quantum domain will affect the 'outcome or behaviour of particles, waves n' other event ,outcomes, in an infinite number of alternative timelines and universes. I knew, not because i'm an expert in Quantum Physics, but, i know my missus. I knew that if i sat and waited, i'd be there for another hour while she fingered every damn thing hanging from a hanger in Debenhams. But, if i got up to get a coffee, as soon as i'd got it, she'd turn up..That would be the Quantum outcome, she'd come out.

So, i went in,ordered a U-boat battery acid Latte. We went into another crash dive. As i waited for my coffee, listening out for depth charges. It'd gone quiet,, we were on 'Silent running', obviously to avoid sonar But it was actually because my coffee was ready. I went out to sit down and there she was...Maybe there is something in this Quantum physics. But in another universe, i could still be sitting there waiting on my 742'nd cup of coffee, as unbeknownst to me ,the Lovely Lynne has run off with the Debenham coat hanger delivery man.

ERE! SHE'S JUST NICKED MY BAD MOOD.....

Part of the small print hidden in there amongst the marriage'vows' is something about sharing everything. Well, thats ok by me. I take the view, that if i haven't been able to hide whatever 'it' may be, well enough, and the 'Lovely Lynne' finds 'it', well, ok we'll share 'it'...I'll just have to make a better job of hiding 'it' next time. You can't be too careful with these missusses. They are crafty scheming creatures and must be watched. Not like us hubbies, we are simple souls, who are quite simply, lyin', untrustworthy rats, on the whole. At least you know where you stand with a husband.

The last few days have been very quite and i suppose a little 'post holiday blues' set in. I just felt a little 'Pissed off', simple as that. I just let my dark mood pass over like dark clouds always, eventually do. Every cartoonist, spending a lot of time alone soon learns that the only person to get you through these 'downs', if you want to call them that is 'you!' The Lovely Lynne kept on at me about 'still being in a bad mood.' The more i try to convince her, that all will be well, the less she believes me. The situation, now, is that i'm coming out of my little pissed off period(POP). Now she still doesn't believe me. She has taken my bad mood, which i thought was 'well hidden' and is going into a (POP) of her own. Well, that's the point its not her(POP) it's mine. She's using a bad mood as in the basic principles of Tai-Chi and most martial arts, by using the force(bad mood) of her opponent (me) against him(me) in this battle of 'pissed off wills',

(POW).

Since i'm weaponless, cos i've no bad mood and i'm happy, cheerful and defensless, i'll have to use charm n' humour to strike at her vulnerable points and disable her.... Do you know what i think i'm in trouble!

I HATE, KIDS, DOGS, N' CHEERFUL PEOPLE....

After going on about the dreamland of the imagination that i experianced at Disney, and trying to avoid falling back into the 'rut' that is everyday life. Well, dear reader, everyday life must've been reading and decided she wasn't going to let me get away with that. Everyday life is a woman i've decided, as she works hard to make life miserable for you, then gets angry when you don't appreciate the effort she's put in.

Everyday life took her revenge on me as i took the 'Little 'un' to school, and 'walked the dogs'. I gave the 'Little 'un' 10 quid for something ,which she promptly lost. I had a 20 pound note which i gave her and haven't seen, it, or any change since. So, 30 quid down and i haven't even had me bloody breakfast, not even a cuppa, as the 'Little 'un'd 'Taken the last of the milk. So, in situations like that the only release is to feel sorry for yourself and 'pissed off' with the world. I find it a very theraputic thing to do. Sod, all this laughter is the best policy and is good for you. And it takes fewer muscles to smile than frown, maybe so, but they're bigger muscles, thus i find frowning and scowling a lot easier.

It was then that a friend of mine Frank,turned up, telling me to look on the bright side n' stuff. I think it would've been perfectly reasonable to 'smack 'im one ,in the gob'. The basic problem is, Frank's a jolly happy chap, always in a good mood and always talking to people. Even screaming kids don't bother him. He takes carloads of kids to various 'activities'....I've been in the car with him n' the little darlings. It nearly drove me nuts. I still wake up screaming like a Vietnam vet having flashbacks at night. Franks glass is always half full, whereas mine varies between being half empty and, "Hey! Whose drank half me pint?..Bastards!"...Disneyland seems a loooong way away.

SIR MACCA WAS IN TOWN, HAVING A HARD DAYS NIGHT N' I MISSED IT.

I sat down to tell you all about my travels, sat at the computer and was totally sidetracked for a good portion of the day, when i stumbled across a mention of the fact that a certain Sir Paul (Macca) McCartney played a concert here in his ol' stomping ground of Liverpool, the 'city of clutter' the other day.The same day i was stomping around totally disheartened that Disneyland, famous for them, was, literally full of fairies..Not being homophobic, but there was some kind of 'Gay day, or something and the place was absolutly 'chokka' with both sexes holding hands with the same sex. Just not quite what you'd expect in Disneyland. Trying to explain to the little'un that sometimes men do hold hands. But, meanwhile in a shrine in Liverpool called Anfield, thousands packed in to pay homage to an Evertonian. A certain ex-mop top Beatle fab guy ..Sir Paul(Macca) McCartney.

I spent yesterday looking up reviews of the concert and listening to the radio highlights and watching video clips of 'the lad'. I've got a lotta time for Macca. He's still firing on all cylinders and does put on a great show and still loves doing it. Good luck to, Sir Macca, i say.

GUESS WHERE I'VE BEEN!

Yup!....Over in Disneyland as Mickies stunt double....Got off the plane to a blast of, Gas mark 7 oven heat of about 97 degrees. That was probably the coldest day too. The next fortnight was spent sweating me knackers off walking around the theme parks of Florida. We actually stayed in Disneyland, which has had a strange effect on me. I don't know wether i've been brainwashed by Disney. Or, i've been inspired by Disney. Theres all this stuff about it being where dreams come true and this being the year of a million dreams.....You get this stuff all the time. But even the most cynical of Scouse/Irish cartoonist has got to be impressed with the imagination and organisation that goes into...Well, Everything! And it does work, you find yourself being cheerful and grinning like a bloody idiot, except when your queing up for rides or Mickey Mouses autograph, for 'the litte 'un's' autograph book.

I found myself getting a new appreciation for the older cartoon stuff. This combined with the stuff at Universal. Well, i've come back busting to draw cartoons; read comics; Watch films. Basically, i've regressed(or advanced) back to being a 12 year old. Belief in the power of the imagination, something i'd lost, to an extent has been rekindled. I'm reading a biography of Mr Disney and even sporting a quite smart Mickey Mouse watch. The idea is to, well' just remind me' to stay out of 'the rut', everyday life can force you into. Well, we'll see if it works


From the land where dreams come true, in the year of a million dreams...To the land where' Bad dreams come true and everythings a load of Bollocks'.Yup! Good ol' UK.....

America is a very odd place. All the telly channels seemed to be Judge somebody; Oprah Winfrey-types;Religious fellahs with white suits,hair n'teeth spouting off endlessly; Or, news prorammes with a gorgeous blonde lady and a hunky guy in a suit, full of smiles n' patter, even when the news is awful. And, of course theres Sport n' sit coms. The reason the Americans're so insular and ignorant of world affairs is quite simply, because non of it is reported. Me n' the Lovely Lynne couldn't believe that the Iraq/Afghanistan fun n' jollies...Hardly got a mention, anywhere. The presidential elections, a 3 legged cow in Idaho, The baseball and the weather were basically your lot. The big story was Hulk Hogans son, whose in jail for the death of a soldier buddy in a car race while' under the influence'. Hulk and his son where planning a' reality' show, when he came out on bail, or something.

On the way home i picked up an English paper, full of dead soldiers; Shithead prime ministers; Mp's fiddling expenses; Petrol going up (The Yanks cannot believe how much we pay for petrol, they pay a fraction of our rate of extortion.); Etc,etc, all stuff ,not to make you homesick, but sick of home.

When we get home, next door have got two yapping dogs. And i've just heard the goverment have proposed Local council deal with Nuclear waste....Local councils ,god the goverment are bad, but local councils!!!!.....Liverpool city council, the bunch of nutballs n' tossers organising(?) the Liverpool city of clutter. "20,000,000pound shortfall, eased by shutting down carehomes around the city; The opening stage show Liverpool -centre of the universe, or something, had everybody pissin' themselves laughing ..They weren't meant to, but that doesn't matter. And something called the Deprivation Barometer says Liverpool's Englands most deprived city of clutter. The Liverpool city council handling nuclear waste?....Oh god,get me outta here!

FOR SOME REASON AIRPORT SECURITY IGNORE ALL THE INTERNATIONAL BADDIES AND ALWAYS PULL ME IN

For some reason not everybody agrees that i have the face of a, it has to be said, slightly battered angel; A face of a certain rougish charm; A strong yet serene face. In fact it would seem that some people think i have the face of a thug, or a mean nasty cold nasty criminal. This, i s'pose i could live with. I mean some women like cold hard steely eyed 'sorts' .James Bonds description in the books; Clint Eastwood made a few bob playing that Dirty Harry type character,and film n' books're filled with cold ruthless enigmatic characters such as this. But my problem is, the people who think i'm a bastard n' a criminal all work for airport security and customs. I went through a patch where i could be on a plane full of international criminals, terrorists and all-round bad guys. And, i would be the one pulled into an office, questioned, searched. etc.(i have to admit to having been spared any body searches involving rubber gloves and the sort.) People with AK47-shaped wheelie cases, or, rocket launcher-shaped shoulder bags were allowed through. Whereas i got the ,oh so familiar, "Could you please come with me please, sir."

One good thing about marrying 'The Lovely Lynne,'(One of many, of course, imust point out.) Is that marrying a bank manager, as long as i'm with her, pulling the cases, like someone who knows their place, as a good husband should. I am part of her airspace of respectability. Rather like Parker carrying Lady Penelope's bags. Even criminal sorts like me n' Parker become respectable. As long as the 'Lovely Respectable Lady Lynne' is nearby, i'm fairly safe. As she knows too well, if i wander off by myself, like hounds chasing a fox. Trouble will catch me.

This must all be borne in mind as we go away to the U.S.ofA. in a few days time and the excitment is building in the house,(all this excitment building and us without planning permission!...sorry!).

I'm not excited, i know i'll enjoy myself there. I enjoy myself, wherever i find myself. It's just getting up at ungodly hours, farting about for hours in airports specifically designed for maximum discomfort. I always end up sleeping on the floor, thats how comfy the seats are. Then when we arrive in yank airspace, the filling of absolutly hilariously ridiculous forms inquiring if i've killed anyone, peddaled drugs, been a nazi, took the dog for a walk without a poo- bag and wether i'll be doing any of these fun things during my time in the good ol U.S.of A.

They do say the longest journey begins with the first step. I'll probably trip on the doorstep.

Anyhow, all the best, see you in a couple of weeks, if they dont send me too Guatamelo(?) bay, mind you i think those orange overalls look quite smart.

BLADE RUNNERS TRACK DOWN ROGUE REPLICANTS...DO INK RUBBERS TRACK DOWN ROGUE CARTOONISTS?

This is an example of one of those ideas that hits you, you think, "Wow, thats great!" Get off your lazy fat arse and start scribbling, inking, and even painting away to illustrate that great idea. Then, you come to a point where you think to yourself. "Well, maybe, it's not such a good idea." Which does happen. But since i've drawn the picture, i'm not gettin' paid, and none of you lot could give a' toss', anyhow. I'm afraid it's 'tough titties', cos, it's going on to the blog, so there.

It's meant to be a piccie of me being held up, like Harrison Ford, at the end of that excellent film, BLADE RUNNER. Rutger Hauer, as the replicant leader saves me/Ford from falling off a building. Then Hauer gives the best end dialogue of any film, ever! You know the one. About ,"Attack ships off the shoulder of Orion. And. C-Beams, and the Tannhouser gates..All these moments lost like tears in the rain, etc..."..Brilliant! I could listen to it for hours.Even if i haven't a bloody clue what the hell it's all about. It's still just great. It's on the excellent Vangelis soundtrack.

The reason for all this 'blathering' is quite simple. I'd been listening to a copy of the aforementioned Vangelis soundtrack. That evening, the Lovely Lynne was out rehearsing with one of the bands she plays with. I've lost track of her musical comings n' goings.So, i stay, sprawled out on the couch watching Dvd's. This particular night,inspired by the soundtrack, i finally got around to playing 'Blade runner..The final cut???'( As there's been about 47 different versions released since, it's release. Studio versions, directors cuts, etc, etc.). But, anyhow, i enjoyed watching Harrison Ford n' Rutger Hauer knocking 7-bell's outta each other. And, retired to my bed with a head full of futuristic cities , rogue replicants, going wild on the outer planets, and here on earth Harrison Ford n' all the other 'Blade Runners' hunting them down.

Not too suprisingly, i s'pose. I had a dream. I was a hunter of Rogue Cartoonists..an INK-RUBBER!...So, i had to illiminate these not human cartoonists. At the end, Rutger Hauer made a guest appearance. Just as well he did, too. I had fallen off a building and he grabbed me and hauled me back onto the roof, and even gave me a version of his closing speech from the film. Here it is. About rogue cartoonists returning to Earth after going wild at off world cartoon festivals.

"I have seen things, you people wouldn't believe. Smashed cartoonists, on fire, shouldering their way to the bar of Ryans( a pub in Rathdrum, Ireland.)

I have seen Hunt Emersons glasses glitter in the dark near Birkenhead Town Hall gate.



All these moments will be lost in time.



Like beer dregs down the drain .....Time to die...From some shocking hangovers....."



In the film, the mystery is, is the Blade Runner(Harrison Ford) a replicant himself?..Likewise, in my version. Is the Ink Rubber(thats me.), am i really a cartoonist? Will we ever know the answers?

There! I told you, it seemed like a good idea, at the time.

JEREMY CLARKSON, JAMES MAY AND 'THE HAMSTER' GOING INTO 'TOP, REVERSE GEAR'......

I'm by no means a 'petrol head', and my knowledge of motor cars is pretty limited. Basically to the car i'm driving at any given time. And given the fact, that due to medical hiccups within this finely honed physical specimen that is me, i'm not, presently able to drive. Which along with screwing up my living as a performing cartoonist/caricaturist, has also caused that part of my brain which dealt with motoring matters, to f-f-f-fade away! As lots of my brain does when it's not being used on a regular basis. As no doubt, many of you have commented upon, (smartarses!)....But despite this lack of knowledge and lack of interest in cars, although i did love driving. And, was quite good, if i do say so myself.(i've the points on my license, and the receipts for my fines to prove it.). But even so, i do enjoy watching,'TOP GEAR' on the telly. And all the 0-60, in 2.3 seconds and the 5000Brake Horse Power, and 260MPH's, which is so vitally important to the 'supercars' and their smoking tyres around the 'TopGear' airfeild.

The goverment, gawd bless 'em have decided to save us all from being killed by nasty motorists by implementing 20MPH speed limits around everywhere around our green n' pleasant land. Which will be the same size, but just seem a lot bigger, cos' it'll take so bloody long to get anywhere. It's clever, in a way. I s'pose it's one way of reducing 'The carbon footprint'(remember when it was plain old pollution?)....By getting us to walk. This 20mph, combined with the increased gridlock, would make it quicker to walk. The cars using lower gears would probably pump out the equal amount of crap anyhow, so changes to our beloved motors would have to be made.

I can imagine 'TOP GEAR', in about 5 years. The 'Supercars would be able to do 0 to 16 in 5 seconds; The top speeds, obviously, way above the speed limits, would be breath taking velocities like 50MPH, or even higher! The Brake Horsepowers would be replaced by Brake Donkey Pull. Somehow, i can't see Richard (Hamster) Hammond, as he always seems to have a fascination with the Brake Horsepower of a motor, being too excited. Or, Jeremy Clarkson, 'Yahoooing' as the car goes into a 30MPH spin. Mind you, James May, or Captain Slow, as he's nicknamed, well James May ,just may, but i doubt it.

I would imagine a drop in flattened hedgehogs in the roads, as we'd never catch them to hit them. And then theres the film industry. Can you imagine James Bond 32... The car chase?... Well, i can wait.

THE BEATLES SANG 'HERE COMES THE SUN'...BUT THEY NEVER MENTIONED THE MOTOR MOWERS, THE ANTS, AND THE KIDS ON BLOODY TRAMPOLINES!

The grotty grey warrington canopy of rain clouds break apart and reveal a bit of blue sky and then, if thats not suprising and unusual enough. The sun breaks through!..Real, honest to god sunlight...Bright n' hot n' everything that sunlight is meant to be, just like i seem to remember it being. I will take advantage of this climatic miracle( for this part of the world, anyhow.).So, i got a few copies of the two years supply of Victor comics, i'd gotten off the E-bay; Kitted myself up in my sun gear. The vest, socks, sandals and khaki shorts, handed down through the generations of style concious Leatherbarrows. I sat outside to 'soak up some rays', and to read about ;'The tough of the track,' Alf Tupper! The only man to win the olympics, after a plate of fish n' chips; Braddock of the bombers. They always said how the British bombing in the war was 'a little off the mark', in other words, not very accurate. Well, they didn't know about Braddock. He could drop a bomb on a nasty German 'Kraut', right between his "Donner" unt his "Blitzen!". And there was a heap of others to rekindle my war mad youth with.
This peace was then interupted by me scratching my leg. I glanced down to see a pile of ants scurrying around my feet n' legs, crawling up and down the cracks of the paving stones of the patio. Soon after, before i'd finished stomping and slapping the little bastards to death there was the sounds of metal springs 'boinging' away. As, so it seems, every house in the area has a trampoline in the garden, and so ,every kid in the area decided. "Sun out, lets hit the trampoline." As the twanging and boinging increased in intensity, they were suddenly drowned out by the combined onslaught of every motor mower, or electric or petrol driven gardening tool within 15-20 miles being 'fired up'. I stood up and could see the odd puff of exhaust fumes, and bouncing above the garden fences, in every direction i cared to look was a snotty little kid's head for a second to be snatched away by good ol' gravity, but slung back into view by nasty ol' potential energy in the coiled spring and rubber of the trampoline.
Bloody sunshine! bring back the rain and wind, a least you can get some peace. And you don't feel you should be outside enjoying the weather, you can stay in n' be miserable.

AN ADDITIONAL ADDITION, ON THE SUBJECT OF FAGS N' FLIRTING WITH GIRLIES N' STUFF.

I've just returned from a trip into the bouncing city of culture of Liverpool, after a few drinkey poo's with a couple of mates , and it is for this reason( n' a few pints of Guinness) that i couldn't be arsed drawing a cartoon for this little addition to the previous 'piece'. Well, not that i suppose anybodies out there paying the slightest bit of attention. But, i mentioned my opinions on smokers outside the pubs in the previous outpouring of wit n' wisdom. It seems that a lot of 'coppin' off' is taking place inside them clouds of tobacco, betwixt smokers of the opposite sexes(sometimes not opposite, we are living in enlightened times lest we forget.) But the point is theres now a word for the smokin' n' flirtin'....SMIRTING. So, thats whats going on outside as your sitting there nursing your flat pint. The smokers're having a jolly good 'Smirt'.
There y'go, hows that for finger on the pulse, incisive, news on the street, street talk blog for ya?..........God!...There's just no pleasing some people.

SMOKING CAN DAMAGE YOUR HEALTH, BUT LIFE'LL KILL YOU!..(Pass me a ciggie will ya.)

I think i'll start smoking. It may well damage your health, kill you, make you smell and be totally anti-social and virtually illegal. But it looks like fun during that limited period while your healthy and alive. Why? I hear you ask.( Well i heard something.) When you go to a boozer these enlightened days when smokers are banned from 'lighting up'inside, they all go outside and 'light up. So, inside are the drinking partners left nursing their rapidly flattening fizzy lager, whilst all the smokers are outside having an absolute ball. The drinkers sit there looking at the walls or ceiling sipping their drink, listening to the 'hootin' n' hollerin', laughing and loud conversations of 'both sexes' outside. This in stark contrast to the quiet of the bar. Like a star within a planetary nebulae of an interstellar gas cloud preventing the light escaping across the universe. The 'Baccy' nebulae of 'fag gas' masks the fun and socialising going on amongst 'the smokers'. Whereas , originally the 'smokers'd' nip outside for a 'quick drag'. Now, they're more likely to stay n' light up again. Not because they're gaspin' for a fag, but just so they dont have to come back inside to the bar to get bored shitless and, probably collared for a round of drinks.

A pub nearby, and it's not alone, has a sheltered, heated, seated area with a telly for the 'smokers'. It's ,sort of outside, but unless its freezing cold,etc, the drinkers'd be quite happy to sit there rather than inside. They've managed to convince me. A lifelong non-smoker that smoking is a stylish, social pastime, you make lots of new friends and cough your lungs up together. In fact i may even try a pipe.

WHEN YOU CAN CROSS THE GARDEN WITHOUT STANDING IN THE DOG MUCK, IT WILL BE TIME FOR YOU TO LEAVE, GRASSHOPPER!

Last weekend, a merest flash of sunlight through the murk caused my missus ,the lovely Lynne to race out of the house to do 'something 'with the garden. She wasn't open to my suggestion. "Look, lets get someone in to concrete over the whole lot." When she said she was going to do something 'with the garden', any hopes i had of her hacking through the 6feet growth of grass, at the front, or the 9feet of grass at the back, where soon dashed as i saw her rearranging bits of muck, on a muck n' stone lump we call 'the rockery'. So, as she no doubt knew, as women do, i would do something, much as i tried to fight it, i felt guilty and set to, cutting through the miniature Amazon rainforest, that constitutes our back garden.(Or as any good Scouser'll call it "Our Back Yard."Even if it's 14 acres of grassland.). As i forced my way throgh these lofty grasses, i kept thinking of the beginning of ,'PLANET OF THE APES'. When Charlton Heston n' his buddies and a whole heap of humans are hunted down by the apes through all the grasses, vines n' undergrowth. I stood there 'under' all this 'overgrowth trying to unravel the cable for the mower, wondering if there was any chance of an ape on a horse, armed with a rifle taking me away. But, it didn't happen, so, i had to hack through the back and the front. I was aching, sweating like a pig, as my dearly beloved was shaping the leaves on some cute little tree in a plant pot. "I love gardening", sez she. I replied ,but we've both forgotten my reply but i think i've been forgiven .

With our new bowling green flat 'Back Yard.' The sun was shining and i thought after my long lay-down, sorry, -off. Due to a 'gammy' leg, i would start doing some Karate training, but, outside in the garden. So, as i powered away, forging my body in the furnace of my will. Part of my mind was on technique and the mysteries of the east, and turning myself into a 'human fighting machine.' Whilst the other part of my mind was concenterating on where i put my feet. Not for stances, etc, but to avoid standing in dog shite.

I thought back to the classic telly series, 'KUNG FU'. And how the Shaolin monks trained David, Kwai Chan Cain, Carradine how to light and extinguish candles; Walk on wet bog paper,or, rice paper ; Fight blind ol' fellahs with sticks; Bounce spears off his wrists; Snatch pebbles from old monks hands, as well as humping around molten cauldrons(old way of tatooing). Well, Grasshopper managed all that and passed his Kung Fu O-levels and left the monastary. But if they'd given him the ultimate test. Walking over our garden without standing in dog muck, Caine'd still be there. But i managed it, so now i'm trying to work out how i can scratch an image of a tiger on one side of the kettle and a dragon on the other. Then lifting it with my forearms to brand them onto my arms, so i'll be the only Shaolin cartoonist in Warrington.

STEVE McQUEEN, AND ME( KINGS OF COOL ) AREN'T INTERESTED IN 'THE GREAT ESCAPE .FORGET ESCAPE ,COS JAILS GREAT!

Who can forget those immortal images of Steve Mcqueen racing across the Austrian roads n' grassy feilds on his motor bike ,(being chased by himself dressed up as a German officer, apparently.) ,as he tries to escape from German prison camp Stalug Luft Einz,vie ,drie, or something. You must've seen it ,its the 'Great Escape', for 'gawds sake ' ,the single most ,if not watched ,repeated film of all time. The king of cool, was trying to get away from a prison in the days when prisons were prisons ,and the inmates had nothing ,but a galvanised bucket and a cup n' spoon ,oh yeah ,and a catchers mitt and baseball to help pass the endless days in solitary confinement. Even after the war prisons were miserable places. My late 'awl fellah', god bless him .Spent a little time at one of her majesty's holiday camps .Strangeways ,in Manchester ,an experience he did not really enjoy. Whilst he was 'doing his time', there were riots over conditions and a lot of inmates seemed to prefer doing their time on the roofs ,rather than in their cells. If you'd rather sit on a wet ,victorian slate roof in Manchester in the middle of winter than inside, it must've been wonderful. But that was then ,this is now.

As everyone knows jails are enclosed indoor centres of joy n' comfort for those poor unfortunate wretches ,twisted and distorted ,neglected and forced into a life of self survival, by an uncaring system, totally geared towards those law abiding scum that infest our land .Or, as once they were known ,criminals and a life of crime. Gone has the boiled cabbage; 24 n' half hours a day in your cell and nought but a bucket to be shared amongst the others in the cell, i wont go into details....But suffice to say its all changed, now all cells and prisoners have sattelite telly ;Computer games; mobile phones ;Study courses ; cheap booze and drugs .In fact things're so good people are 'BREAKING IN' to jails. Escapes have dropped drammatically. In fact i was due to go on holiday to Florida with my lovely wife Lynne and 'The Daughter!'...But, i didn't fancy queuing up for rides in Disneyland. So, what i've done is gone to my nearest 'nick'(got to get into the lingo)..And i've confessed to parking offences; Not picking up 'Doggy poo',and other evil offences. But it didn't seem to be doing the job, so i've confessed to a few mass murders and being 'Jack the Ripper'...All to no avail, until one of the officers thought i looked like Alan Titchmarsh and asked what happened to the red haired woman,"with the big knockers n' no bra?". So, i told him i'd buried her in a garden somewhere ,so i'm currently on remand, so i might make jail, yet .

If Steve McQueen knew what it was like, i bet he'd be revving that bike back towards the jail walls, to do a jump back in. Sex,drugs,booze ,telly AND his catchers mitt n' baseball ,eeeh! its sheer luxury.

( By the way this isn't me in jail, this is me)

at home.

THE THREE STAGES OF THE SHREWSBURY CARTOON FESTIVITIES

Last Friday i arrived in the fine town of Shrewsbury,as an invited guest of a strange ,but very nice bunch of lads n' lasses who thought it'd be a good idea to invite the scum of the earth into their idylic little town ,and call this plague like influx a cartoon festival. So, cartoonists being the sad ,deadbeat low lifes we are ,willing to go anyway ,anywhere ,anyhow (as a, certain Mr Townshend once put it. )..for a drink and a talk with the other sad ,boozed up deadbeats that comprise the cartoonist fraternity turned up in their hoardes .Actually there would've been many more ,but due to the increased use of Sat-Nav,i think half the Cartoonist Club of GB, is still wandering hoplessly lost around GB. I'd say they're the lucky ones. Some set their wonder devices for Shrewsbury and stopped just short of Finland. But, not me ,i got the good ol' Choo-Choo train .Aaah ,cold windy platforms ,cold tasteless coffee in plastic cups, delayed trains that cause you to miss your connections ,ohh ,there's nothing like a journey on a train. One thing thats driving me absolutly 'Stark raving nuts' is;The constant ROBOT,electronic announcers appologising for the delays ,etc, etc. The sci-fi 'fave' about giving robots ,computers , replicants ,as in Blade Runner ,etc emotions and feelings has started on the train platform .The Warrington Bank Quay box of electronic bits was almost in tears apologising for the 15 minute delay due to line difficulties,of the 11.25 Glasgow train .I really felt sorry for her/it. But i was heartily cheered up as i now know that the wonderful Peter Cook persona ,E.L.Wisty is alive and well and is the station announcer at Crewe station. I couldn't understand his announcements ,i was laughing so much,half expecting his train information to be interupted with ,"Did you know you have 14 miles of tubing inside your stomach.."

But ,your hero(thats me) finally arrived in town. The hotel was only 5 minutes walk ,so i walked for 10, asked, was told it's only 5 minutes that way , so i walked for 10, then asked ,"yeah ,i know it's 5 minutes down there."Eventually,10 minutes later i came across a bunch of cartoonists in the main town square. Some were painting and drawing on big boards and some were drawing caricatures of the Shrewsburians. A whole heap of scribbling going on by a pile of talented lads n' lasses who had one thing in common . They were all absolutly freezing their bollocks(n'stuff) off! There was a wind blowing across Siberia and Russia,steadfastly avoiding the warm bits, scooting around Sweden n' Norway and picking up a little heat from that holiday paradise ,the North Sea ,before meeting up with high rain packed winds and clouds from the Atlantic, this climatic cold war happened on the main square of Shrewsbury. But were we deterred? No ,not us, we're too stupid,sorry i meant dedicated. We were all suffering together and we were there for each other .I thought Helen Martin and Sheba Cassinni,the glamour girls of british on the spot caricaturing could've shared their body heat with us tho'. We shivered away trying to draw smooth ink lines,but the shivering gave the 'likenesses(?)',shall we say a sharper edge ,more like a Scarfe or Steadman look to them,i like to think.(just let me dream on will ya,i mean its my blog ,so i can think and write what i want ,so there! ,Ya boo n' sucks to you.)

But we worked away over the next couple of days and the good Shrewsburyians and visitors ,of which there were many ,all seemed very happy and good crowds seemed to be attracted by the different events in the square ,even with the cold weather. I could feel my throat giving up on me and this constant dew drop hanging from my nose was growing constantly ,I put it to good use tho ;and smudged the drawing with a little of it to give some grey tone shading ,it worked nicely ,grey (albeit with a slight green tint). I was coming down with a cold.

All was going well ,very nicely indeed, when ,'Those Words',were uttered by Paul Baker and Simon Cassinni ,fellow caricaturists. It was then that the devil (or the Divil,as the family ,back in Ireland'd say.).He took control of my ,up to that point,anyhow ,pure and angelic(if cold) body n' tongue." F***'in' right!..I want a few."I blurted, in reply. So, we scarpered from the town square ,we'd no guilt in our hearts at leaving other cartoonists in the square working,we'd done a good few hours ,so there . Anyhow they turned up within the next half hour .They didn't want to be the first to be seen to 'hit the boozer'. That has never been a problem for us.

The cartoonists may differ ,the locations ,the temperature ,but one thing that doesn't ,is the copious amounts of drink consumed at the various cartoon festivals. The chat ,the 'crack', gets louder as does the laughter and the drinking based disgusting sounds .The guzzling ,slurping, glugging,glucking. Followed by by thunderous belches n' various gaseous emmissions .All horrible to those around ,all who are doing exactly the same. Until you uncontrollably blurt out that noise that everyone wants to hear ,but is horrible to your own ears ..the "I'll get these!"..the wallets being finally opened and wont be closed till your home,in the doghouse,(although, no chance of your beer laden breath going within a mile of any busoms of the family). But the boozers n' the hotel we stayed in are all very nice traditional pubs and i liked them so much ,we visited quite a few and tested them out ,for future cartoon based events ,you understand.

We were treated to food as well .Some people seem to feel a need to interrupt the drinking with the eating of food. There are some strange people about. In the morning was a lovely cooked breakfast ,bacon ,sausage ,toast ,etc, and gallons of tea. The evening meals were a little more exotic .For a 'Chip buttie' lad like meself ,the food was better on the menu ,than the plate ,but everyone seemed happy ,lots of wine and guitars and singing cartoonists ,aplenty .Not always a pleasant experience ,but always interesting. Then through the rainy cobbled streets to the hotel to guzzle n' gab the night away until some ungodly hour. Again ,shall we say thanks to the amounts consumed by certain folk ,there was some interesting behaviour, sights ,sounds and ,yes smells from certain people,which will haunt me for years to come.

On the sunday morning ,a lovely freezing cold day ,i had a lovely freezing cold shower,i couldn't un clench my mouth for about an hour n'a half . I went downstairs to leave my bag at reception,opened my mouth to speak and absolutly nothing happened .My throat had packed up totally. I eventually got some vocal ability back ,sounding like a bad Dalek impersonator ,i managed some breakfast. The voice was lubricated with about 8 pots of tea. Then we went to the gallery and i was chatting away ,chewing on some snacks ,when the lovely Helen opened her big gob and i found myself slaving away drawing caricatures of those fine Shrewsburyans of Shrewsbury ,again .I was the last to finish scribbling ,gosh ,i'm just a hero.

The only thing that stuck in my swollen throat was that i'd drawn 4 drawings as asked and only one was put up . Which was fair enough ,as i suppose it was space and frames permitting, or whatever and i wasn't the only one ,so there y'go. But what did wind me up was the idea they put up ,was the one i nearly didn't do .but threw in to fill the bloody envelope.Aaah ,thats life i s'pose. But there was some bloody good stuff up there. It's when you see all this good stuff displayed up there ,you get an idea how many bastards are out there and why i hate them.

Well done to one n' all at Shrewsbury Cartoon Festival, it was good to see you again and hopefully i'll see you again next time. And it was good to see all my cartooning mates n' buddies n'friends, See ya soon, Ya bunch o' arse'oles.

Now ,the recovery ,hacking coughs ,ripping the lining of my throat off, snorting n' sneezing gallons of snot with a single snort. body temperature ,up n' down n' all over the bloody place. I can hardly speak ,which seems to please a lot of people for some reason, just a pathetic little squeak,(thats not a description of me ,its how i sound ,smartarse!) ,instead of the deep manly bass most people associate with me. Right i'm off to dissolve in a pool of sweat n' snot .

THERE I WAS WALKING THE DOG AND IT GOT SUCKED UP INTO THE JET TURBINES OF A 747 JUMBO JET SCREAMING UP THE HIGH STREET.

Years ago in Hong Kong ,apparently when aircraft were flying into 'the old airport' ,these huge Jumbo jets would swoop in over the harbour and fly towards a mountain. The route they took ,took them between the cities appartment blocks ,people were leaning from their balconies looking down on a bloody 'jumbo'jet flying past their building,below them! with their wingtips mere inches away from the living room windows .And not much further below was streets filled with traders ,market stalls and shoppers. Apparently at the end of this man made chasm was a hi-tech boulder painted with a white cross. When the pilot saw the cross ,it was full-on 'hard -a-port' for the approach to the runway .So ,this massive plane with its straining sweating pilot ,with such a tight turn the wings trailing laundry hooked from outside the appartments to dry,were almost vertical. Totally insane, but it must've been amazing.

I'll bet you thought that spirit of adventure and danger was gone ,but you'd be wrong. Every airport on the planet is built somewhere 'safe'. No danger to anyone around .But .not us ! We're British! And we don't do things the easy way. Theres been a lot of fuss lately about how our beloved goverment, in conjunction with the British Airport Authority, n' British Air this n' that have hidden plans for various runways and alterations to good ol' Heathrow. The plans for Runway 3 are a wonderful example of the fine work the maniacs who make our decisions for us are doing.

The flights would swoop in over the 'safety zone',the approach to the actual runway .In this case the 'Safety zone?' just happens to be that mass of ,junctions ,overpasses, underpasses and the labyrinths of roads that is the junction of two of the busiest motorways in the land. So, when your sitting in one of the 'jams' ,that the M25 has ,on occassions . Try not to get too alarmed when you glance out of your window to see a 747 howling towards you. Don't dive down ,or you'll get a gear stick in your gob. But you'll get a good view of the undercarriage tyre tread scraping across your sun roof. And then ,if you were too paralysed by fear to take the experiance all in ,the first time ,just hang on for a mere 60 seconds (the 'jams' do tend to last a bit longer than that.) for the next one to come howling(hopefully)over you.

Then we have the other end of the runway, were the planes fly over a little town and have to pull hard on their joysticks to get the plane up n' over a church steeple which was foolishly built long ago ,directly on the take off path of runway 3. This must be wonderful for the locals having to duck every 60 seconds as a 747 comes screaming up the main street .Theres a danger of pets ,small children and little ol' ladies being sucked up into the jet turbines. Also it could prove nasty for WH Smith customers, as the store is at the bottom of the street .The customers will have to time their entering and leaving between flights.

Who sez flyings dangerous, it's staying on the ground thats dangerous.